


A Little Of What You Fancy

by This_is_your_Heichou_speaking



Series: Prurience [14]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Asphyxiation, Bottom Harry, Established Relationship, Harry gets to show off his muscles, M/M, Oral Sex, Pinching, Powerbottom Harry, That's why it's underage (just to be safe), Top Tom Riddle, set in Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 10:43:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20759069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/This_is_your_Heichou_speaking/pseuds/This_is_your_Heichou_speaking
Summary: Harry is stronger than he looks.





	A Little Of What You Fancy

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [SpokenSoftly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpokenSoftly) for betaing for me <3

It happened suddenly. Usually Tom was good at foreseeing events, good at judging how people would react before even _they_ did, but somehow Harry blindsided him so completely and in so many ways that he wasn't sure how to react.

This was a new thing for him. And this was how it began.

Tom didn't often interact with Granger—or at least, not more than nodding hello to her as he approached Harry in the mornings. Tom liked to say it was because he disliked her, and Harry liked to say that it was because Tom felt threatened by her, but the truth was that, every time they talked for more than five minutes, it'd result in arguments neither of them could stop.

And usually, both Weasley and Harry let them run their course until Tom (inevitably) won, but not that day.

No, that particular day, Harry had been stressed and irritated, and Tom's hissed, quiet debating got on his last nerve. He asked Tom to stop multiple times, quietly and with force, and Tom ignored him like he ignored Harry every other time, and then Harry snapped.

Before Tom knew what was happening, Harry had grabbed him around the waist and, with confidence in his very posture, slung him over one shoulder like a sack of goods. It only took him a few seconds to register, but they were already out of the library by the time that Tom caught on and started wriggling wildly in Harry's grip, demanding to be released.

Harry didn't respond. He stalked out of the library without replying to his friends' questions, ignoring everything Tom did to get free like he was just a particularly persistent fly. And wasn't that just the most surprising thing—Harry was strong, stronger than Tom had realised, and somehow, Tom had missed it.

Admittedly, Harry was in the habit of wearing those soft jumpers the Weasley matriarch made him, and his cousin's loose castoffs besides, so it wasn't like Tom had had the pleasure of admiring Harry's muscled biceps before—the very same biceps that now held him flush against an equally firm shoulder. But he _ had _ fucked Harry before, and only ever done it half-clothed or in darkened corners. He had never taken the time to strip Harry bare, watch the way the light danced off his skin, and had missed the opportunity to admire (and worship) Harry's physique.

And really, could Tom be blamed for thinking Harry softer, weaker, more pliant than he actually was? Harry liked to struggle in his grasp, liked to make Tom order him around and put him where he wanted, and put on such a believable act of helplessness that even Tom was fooled—Tom, who always saw through everyone.

On one hand, Tom preferred being the one in power. He liked that he could make Harry do what he wanted, how he wanted it, but _this_. This was something brand new and untouched, a desire in him that he'd not even been fully aware of, and it made Tom feel oddly shy.

So he struggled, and shouted at Harry to let him go, and when that didn't work, pinched the firm, round shape of Harry's arse. Harry didn't even flinch. He kept walking at the same pace, and smacked Tom's behind so sharply it made him go still and silent.

"Settle down," Harry said, his voice harder than Tom had ever heard it. "Or you'll get worse than that."

And why did that make Tom want more?

He was quiet the rest of the way, but without the noise and distraction Tom had nothing to focus on except the way Harry's legs and arse flexed as he walked, or the way his arm adjusted every time Tom shifted, to hold him more securely. He felt himself hardening against Harry's shoulder, and by the time they came to the Head Boys' rooms, he was pushing his cock against the muscle of Harry's chest and arm.

And then he was thrown onto his own bed, fast enough that it left his head spinning, and by the time he'd regained his bearings, Harry was fast at work stripping him. He did away with Tom's trousers first, undoing his belt and sliding them down before Tom had really even realised what was happening.

"Harry—" he gasped, but Harry's hand went over his mouth, holding it shut.

"Hush," he said—just that, but it was enough. He looked at Tom as if to gauge his acceptance, his hand warm and strong despite being the same small, calloused thing he knew so well, and only let go when Tom blinked in acquiescence.

Only then did Harry continue. He looked contemplatively at Tom's shirt, and then stripped him of that too, until Tom lay naked and hard and flushed. He sighed then, as if letting go of some great strain, and sat himself between Tom's legs.

"Sometimes," he said, grasping Tom's dick "you get _ really _ annoying." He stroked Tom hard, once, twice, getting him wet. Tom wanted to be angry, but Harry's touch was everything he couldn't get through his slacks, and Tom was already so aroused that he could think of nothing but his dick.

Harry bent down, stroking harder, until his face was level with Tom's erection. "How many times did I tell you to shut up?" he asked, his other hand going to play with Tom's balls. He pulled at the skin there, rolled them in his hands like he was used to it, like he was intimately familiar with Tom's body. That realisation made him feel suddenly proud of himself, and Harry seemed to see it all over his face.

"What, you think it's funny?" he said, and then pinched Tom hard just behind the balls.

Immediately, Tom arched off the bed, gasping. It hurt, but in such a sharp way that it felt like electricity in his limbs. "Harry," he gasped again, and wanted to be ashamed of how desperate he sounded. But he _ was _ desperate, wanted nothing more than Harry's mouth and weight and warmth, so he reached down for Harry's hair.

And Harry slapped it away. He pinched Tom again, harder this time, and when Tom gasped he went down on him in one stroke.

It felt like heaven, like instant relief and more _ sensation _ all at once. Harry was so wet around him, like he'd been salivating for Tom's cock despite how unaffected he'd acted. And a part of Tom felt the natural, practiced urge to reach for Harry's hair again, to lead him and push into him as he pleased, but Harry's hands reached for his hips almost as if he could sense Tom's thoughts. He held Tom down, his hold unyielding no matter how Tom bucked and pushed, and sucked him into his mouth like he was hungry for Tom.

He slid off slow, looked Tom in the eyes when he went back down, and he looked such a _ sight _ —taking from Tom as he wished, greedy and unapologetic and no regard for Tom's urges besides. He was so pretty with his lips all swollen and his mouth full, with his eyelashes fluttering as he lost himself, with that same steely glint in his eye that was _ new _—that Tom felt he could come at any second.

Then Harry was getting off him, and sliding off his trousers and underwear like he hadn't just left Tom right at the edge, and for the first time in a _ long _ time Tom felt like he could cry.

He didn't, but that Harry had pushed him to this point was an achievement all on its own. He stretched loosely, the wet on his cock cold, and when Harry was getting back on him, when he straddled his waist and pushed his arse down on his erection, Tom realised he wanted nothing but to please Harry.

He wanted Harry to go loose-limbed and warm and happy, wanted him to lose himself in pleasure he took from Tom as freely as he breathed. He felt undeniable, unexpected affection for Harry, softer than anything he'd experienced before, and once again it made him want to hide his face.

But Harry was opening himself up, one hand holding his large, too-long shirt up while he fucked himself. His eyes were closed in pleasure, his cock hard and flushed and his mouth open in a round, pink 'o', and his could Tom possibly look away?

So he watched, and rolled his hips up so his cock pushed into Harry's thighs, and watched Harry fuck himself open like it was all he could think of.

Harry let him push into his skin, as if Tom wasn't even there, and when he was loose enough, grabbed Tom's cock and sank down on it. He went slow, steady, holding the hem of his shirt up so Tom could see his abs and thighs and his own cock, sinking into Harry inch by inch. Harry took him effortlessly, easily, and then was sitting on Tom's lap. He gasped, his mouth wet, and rolled his hips just a little. As if he wanted to feel Tom's shape inside him, feel how full he was, and not really do anything with it. Not yet, at least.

He opened his eyes then, his pupils so wide and so dark that Tom could barely see the green, and grinned sharply. "How many times did I ask you to shut up?" he said again, but there was more meaning there now. More weight.

"How many times did I ask you to let it go? You knew I was tired, that my head hurt, that I just wanted to sit with you and for you to be _ good _. Just once."

He reached behind himself, fingering the place where his rim stretched around Tom's cock, but Tom couldn't look away from the way Harry's mouth worked around his words.

"I just—" he said, but what? What had been so important that he hadn't listened? He couldn't even remember what they'd been arguing about, never mind the fine points on which they differed, and had it made any difference? Would something have _ changed _ if Tom had won?

But it gave him this, he thought, down in the quietest part of himself. It had given him Harry, strong and perfectly sculpted and hard, towering over him, his arse hot and tight around him, and for that Tom couldn't be sorry.

Harry cocked his head, considering him, and then put his hand gently on Tom's throat. "Say you're sorry," he said quietly.

There was a beat, then Tom shook his head no. Tom Riddle didn't apologise, and he wouldn't start now. It hadn't been that big of a deal anyway, not something to be _ truly _ upset about—he refused to give in. But it was like Harry had been waiting for that, had been wanting Tom to say no, because he smiled like he was pleased.

And then he leaned forward some. Just the slightest bit, but it was enough to put real weight on his hands, on Tom's neck. His breaths came faster, went shallower, and his ears started to feel heavy.

But, when Harry once again said, "say sorry," he shook his head again.

And Harry leaned forward some more, until Tom could barely breathe, until his limbs felt numb and he felt surprisingly light, like he wasn't really bound to his body at all.

And though his arms and legs felt detached from him, his cock felt like it was growing, or perhaps like Harry was going tighter and hotter, until Tom could scarcely bear it. And Harry said, "say you're sorry, Tom," except he didn't really want Tom to say sorry at all.

No, he was moving now, fucking himself on Tom's erection, going from shallow dips to deep plunges, and Tom's sight was going dark at the edges. All he could see was the flexing of Harry's flexing, thick thighs, the clenching of his stomach, and his eyes—dark and knowing and nearly there, _ nearly there _.

It felt like a wave, like something immense he'd not seen coming, but had later realised that he'd _ heard _, and not recognised the signs. He felt like he was somewhere deep, somewhere unexplored, and his body shuddered so hard he nearly passed out. And then he was re-discovering Harry's touch on his neck—softer now, like a kiss rather than an embrace. He felt Harry's warmth anew, his arse warm and wet and messy around his cock, Harry's come cooling on his stomach, and his lips turned in a softer smile than he'd seen all day.

He didn't get off, and Tom was glad. He didn't want Harry to leave him, but even for a second, didn't want to lose the immediacy of his presence even for the few minutes it would take to clean up and get into bed.

And, like always, it was like Harry knew without him ever saying anything. He leaned forward, hands on Tom's shoulders now, and then further so his forearms lay flat on either side of Tom's head. He kissed him, barely a touch of lips against lips and then again, deeper.

It was the first time they'd kissed in all of this, Tom realised.

Harry's lips had never tasted sweeter, Tom realised.

Later, they'd stumble together into the shower, and _ much _ later, Tom would let Harry push him down and use his mouth, let him arrange Tom as he wished, find out exactly how fast Harry's hold was.

For now, all that mattered was the way the air brushed his skin in goosebumps, except for where Harry's chest pressed into his, and where Harry's lips traced across his face in wide, rehearsed arches.


End file.
